The Ohio Democrat. (Logan, O. [Ohio]) 1886-1906, 1887-04-16
taken up by the blood before could get to

Ne~ONN
her"
1.-THE drop or two taken up by the bloodi
Heaven of mercy, Is there no antidoteto
"Thoro is one, but that may be impossible"
"Speak, mani there must be no impossible
here"
"Thcre shall be no impossible, signor, u
Bardincllis strength faint not" the italian
quietly said; "for tarantism, in my land,
there are the tarantella Dances"
II know-I remember" cried Darby ut
Is music, music she must have; and you
you Bardinclli--"
81 know the music--yes. When the poison
works In her brain and nerves she will move;
and IL will play the death dance for her.
Come, Sig. Darby, let me carry her; 1 can
best place her so that the faintest notes may
stir her numbed Senses"
Half frantic with agony Darby made no
protest, but yielded her to the Italian. Was
not the priceless life at his mercyi Had he
asked for the heart in his bosom he would
not have wished to say him nay. Fragile Of
build though he was, Bardinelli caught up
the lovely burden surrendered to him and
bore her, with the strength and speed Of an
athlete, back to the glare and languorous
perfumes of the ball room.
"Her life Is mine, her life Ia minel" he
muttered, in his half delirious joy, as he felt
the pulsations of his heart answering to the
wild throbbing of the poison. charged arte-
ries of his breast.
Awe-stricken the wedding revelers
cleared the floor of the dance.hall. There
were rapid questionings and agitated re-
plies, there were groans here and there and
sobs half repressed. Then there was a
silence as of the sepulcher in the garish
house. Through this silence stole the first
weird notes of Bardinclli's Dance of Death.
No one looked at the musician; every eye
was fastened on the bride. She lay upon
the wine-velvet of the divan, white and
rigid; about her trailed the satin and lace
and orange flowers of her bridal attire.
Bardinelli's violin was giving forth quick
er strains. So fantastic were the chords,
now plaintive and implorng, now full of u
mad energy, anon dropping into fathomless
depths of pathos, it seemed as though the
player were improvising the airs, telling to
the still figure upon the couch the tale of a
life noble in it's dreams and aspirations,
tragic in its failures. Yet through the Won
drous harmony dropped ever, clear and
pure as a shower of pearls, the notes of the
rhythmic tarantella waltz.
The call to movement reached the locked
senses of the dreamer. She moved; she
arose to her feet; she glided over the floor.
Her movements were as rhythmic as
were the strains of Bardinelli's violin;
they were those Of the Graccs. Her face
was the frozen one of the doomed 1phigenia.
Upon the silence of the room the Italians
melody wrought like magic. The wedding
guests swayed hither and thither in gro
tesque mimicry OF the dream dancer upon
tho polished floor. The breeze of the night
waited the mystical strains out through the
open easements, and bore them past Won
dering wayfarers upward to the empyrean
to sweep the confines OF other realms of
mystery.
Bardinelli was lending all the cunning Of
his hand to rouse the suspended faculties Of
his beloved pupil. The heavy lids vailing
her vision were slowly raised; surrounding
objects were once more photographed upon
the retina Of the eye; the tinge Of life was
returning to lip and cheek; her movements
had less OF grace and more of energy. 1t
were as though the shackles Of flesh were
being again riveted upon the free move
ment OF the spirit. The statue had walked
to life, though another than Pygmalion
should reap the kisses of those divinely
parted lips.
Louder and louder swelled the waltz melo-
dies of the forgotten music. One who
was contorted, and that the veins in his
forehead were purple cords, tensely drawn.
So might have looked the LAGOON wrestling
in the folds Of the sea monster.
Not the less surely, however, was the mas
ter hand informed Of the genius of death
less will, and the observer, unknowing
turned again to mark the effects of his
power upon her, who, like Eurydice, was
being lurcd back from the world Of mystery
and shadowed by his Orphic entertainments.
Suddenly she stood still. The throng of
spectators gazed at her. Their united
breath would not have stirred the down OF
thistle puff. Her white bosom rose and
fell. The orange-blossoms looping her
corsage trembled like sentient creatures
filled with passion Of joy in her living
warmth and loveliness. Her eyes roved
anxiously over the expectant assemblage
She was looking for some one. For whom
She smiled u dazzling smile OF recognition,
and joyously stretched forth her arms. Her
bridegroom hurried to meet and take her
into his embrace.
For the first time there was discord in
the music No one noticed it. There was
break, pause, then crash OF chords
then silence.
SIT was you who drew me back among
tuo lNluk, his euC OIiuC, ~
rest on the heart of her husband "Not the
bands of death could hold me from you yet,
dear. It was the yearning of my spirit that
spoke to you through the music of Bardi
nelli's violin"
'Then, o my beloved!" he answered il
the abnegation Of humble gratitude, SIT
is to Bardinelli owe the debt may never
hope to repay"
''To Bardinellia"
She turned in her gracious beauty and
moved toward the place Of the musician.
He did not rise to meet her. He was sit
ting bending forward and his face wal
averted as from sigh distressing to him
His violin had slipped from his grasp ant
was resting against his knee, two Of its
strings broken and snarled. She laid upon
his shoulder the hand from which he had
extracted the venom Of the tarantula.
"Bardinelli"
Her voice had never before appealed Il
him in vain. Now he gave it no heed Sht
bent over him, her bridalvail blending will
the long hair floating over his shoulders
Her gentle clasp closed upon the fingers
still holding the taut bow. Then passion
ate cry broke from her lips and she turned
to her husband:
"He is dead He has given his life foi
mine, Phil."-Southern Bivoudc.
Saved by Horse.